


virtue is a rich stone

by kaijuburgers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (kind of), (sort of), Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Choking, Class Differences, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Impact Play, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Work, Unhealthy Relationships, no beta reader we die like the archdemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuburgers/pseuds/kaijuburgers
Summary: Even though Faren knows that look won’t last, his breath hitches at the sight. In another life, he thinks, he might describe the feeling as fondness. But in Orzammar, there is no room for fondness between the two of them.-A fic in which Faren Brosca tries not to think about the class differences between him and the man who takes him to bed. And fails.
Relationships: Aeducan/Brosca (Dragon Age), Male Aeducan/Male Brosca (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	virtue is a rich stone

Faren Brosca tries very hard not to think about the fact that his cock is in the mouth of the Prince of Orzammar.

The man’s tongue is as quick and skilled around the head as it is on the Assembly Floor, or at least it seems that way from what Faren has heard of the Assembly. He’s never been there himself- even when he comes to the Diamond Quarter like he has now, it’s always while trying to attract as little attention as possible. There are many long-forgotten tunnels and secret doors in Orzammar, and Faren knows them all. When Prince Duran Aeducan demands his presence, he makes good use of that knowledge.

He slides a hand into Duran’s hair, gripping tightly against his roots. Half of the prince’s light ash brown hair has been pulled back into some elaborate braid pattern only those with far too much free time would bother with, but there’s enough loose that Faren can grip tightly, pulling the noble’s mouth down onto his cock. He pushes in slow, watching Duran hold his hands behind his back so that he won’t be able to act on instinct and use them to push the duster’s hips back. It’s not a kindness, much as it might seem like one- in many ways it would be far more kind to just fuck the Aeducan prince’s mouth and get it over with, empty himself in the man’s throat and just be done with it. The slowness is a cruelty, forcing Duran to keep himself in place and not pull away. It’s as unjust as looking the prince’s eyes as he slowly eases his cock into his mouth, seeing the hunger and desperation in them even as Duran starts to choke. _Choking is a survival mechanism_ , Faren can’t help but think. The choking is this descendant of a Paragon’s body trying to keep him alive and here Faren is, a duster using it for his own pleasure. Here he is turning that survival instinct- honed through generations of nobles that stretch back to the Ancient Age- into something to toy with.

 _Is the Aeducan disgusted with himself?_ Faren hopes he’s disgusted with himself. He hopes the noble can’t help but think about how he’s drooling around a duster’s cock, about how the spit he’s making is dripping from his mouth and down his chin. Duran’s throat is tight and warm, and as he chokes it’s like his muscles are massaging Faren, desperately trying to get him to empty himself inside the man. And Faren fucks back, as hard and fast as he can bear. It’s dangerous, to think about how easy it would be to hold his cock there down at the back of the prince’s throat until he passes out, seeing his eyes water and fill with fear and hunger in equal measure. But that doesn’t mean Faren doesn’t think about it, that the idea of breaking this noble as much as he can get away with doesn’t make his cock just a little harder.

Duran pulls back, gasping for breath. He looks up at Faren and _fuck_ , there’s something about having a prince on their knees in front of him, still dressed in ancestral armor with absolute desperation in their eyes that makes something ignite in Faren’s chest and his cock. He grips the Aeducan’s chin with one hand- hard enough to hurt but not enough to bruise- forces the man to look in his eyes. It’s easy to pretend they’re equals like this, with Duran damn near sobbing with need and want. But they’re not equals. With his free hand, Faren slaps him on the cheek with an open palm. It’s softer than he could be but harder than he probably should be from the way Duran cries out. It looks like it hurt.

Faren really fucking hopes it hurt.

The Aeducan prince isn’t the first noble who’s taken Faren to bed, but he is the first of them to be a man. It’s not that him being male bothers Faren; he and Leske have fooled around enough that he knows what he’s doing when it comes to that. It’s what happens as a _result_ of them both being male that bothers him. If Faren were Rica, he’d still be a duster and Duran would still hide him from sight. But maybe he wouldn’t hide him quite so much or intensely- there’d be some understanding amongst the nobles who sit in their palaces up in the Diamond Quarter. Maybe some gossip here and there, but limited by the knowlege that noble hunters are necessary to keep the houses alive. But Faren can’t give the Aeducans children, and Duran doesn’t seem to ever forget it. Even though it’s _his_ shame- and he _is_ ashamed, Faren knows it - he likes to hold it over his lover. It’s probably easier, Faren thinks bitterly, for the prince to know that if his secrets are ever threatened he can just dispose of the evidence. Nobody will notice another missing duster. But at least Faren can sometimes use that shame to his advantage.

“Imagine if all the deep lords could see you like this, _salroka,_ ” he coos, twisting as much poison into the last word as he can, toying with a loose strand of the prince’s hair. “So desperate that you don’t even take your armor off before sinking to your knees. What would they think of you?”

Duran makes a strangled noise and then wraps his lips around Faren’s cock around. Faren doesn’t fuck his mouth this time- the Aeducan fucks it himself, pushing his head down further and further until his nose is pressed up against the red curls of Faren’s pubic hair. The duster inhales sharply, leaning back to support his weight against the palace wall. The prince’s throat feels even more unbelievably tight and wet and warm than before and it takes every ounce of self control that Faren has to lean back and just let him set the pace. The sounds he makes are obscene, and Faren’s eyes roll back in his head as his back arches. When he finally pulls himself from Duran’s mouth, they both take a moment to catch their breath.

“By th _e Stone…_ ” Duran begins. His lips are swollen and his voice breathy, and he looks up at Faren with a look of desperate adoration, a string of saliva still trailing between his mouth and Faren’s cock. Even though Faren knows that look won’t last, his breath hitches at the sight. In another life, he thinks, he might describe the feeling as fondness. But in Orzammar, there is no room for fondness between the two of them. When Duran moves from his knees to his feet, pulling himself up off the floor, Faren steps forward and places a hand on his neck. The prince’s armor offers enough protection that Faren can’t do any real damage and his grip is loose anyway, but he applies enough pressure that Duran stops speaking. He swallows, and Faren can feel the way it moves in the man’s throat. He squeezes harder.

“Take your armor off,” he growls, voice low and dangerous in the Aeducan’s ear. “When I let you go, you’re going to take it off and get on the bed, all bent over and ready for me.” And then he kisses the prince.

There’s no gentleness in the kiss, and they both like it that way. Duran likes it because it means he can pretend he has no choice in what happens. That’s why he chooses to bring Faren to his quarters in the first place, so he can have a time and space where he can play at powerlessness the same way the Provings let him play at war. Duran’s mouth is still slick with saliva, and Faren can taste his own cock on the other man’s tongue. The duster’s teeth are around the prince’s bottom lip, and he bites down just enough that he almost draws blood. There’s no resistance to his tongue, and they kiss open mouthed and furious. Duran is breathless and limp, and it might be because of Faren’s hand around his throat or it might be because of the way he’s kissing him, like the prince belongs to him. When Faren lets him go, his hands automatically go to the buckles of his armor, shaking as he frantically peels his armor off.

It’s too slow for Faren’s liking though, and he lets out a grunt of frustration as he aids in stripping the prince naked. When he takes his gaunlets off, he can’t help but be all too aware of how rough and calloused his hands are compared to Duran’s. One day when he is a warrior, maybe the prince will have hands that look more like his, but for now they are soft and tender, and just a day wearing this ancestral armor has left the man’s skin chapped. Faren probably should take more care of the armor that he does, throwing it down to the floor like the very fact it’s between him and the man who takes him to bed disgusts him. It’s the armor of King Endrin’s father after all- if anyone who is anyone in Orzammar were asked to choose between the armor and Faren’s life, they’d choose for him to die. Those sheets of metal are worth more than his life, and there’s something exhilarating at treating them this way as much as it terrifies him to think about.

When Duran stands naked before him, Faren takes a moment to admire his patron. The prince has the build of a man who spends as long in the training ring as he does in his books. _The body of a warrior-poet_ Faren can’t help but think. The prince’s shoulders are broad and even under the layer of fat on his belly the size and strength of his muscles is obvious. His skin is flushed, but all Faren can think about is how unspoilt his skin is. The Aeducan prince doesn’t have any scars, not from sparring, not from the Provings, not from his military commission. It could be because he’s too good to get hit, but Faren doesn’t believe that. He’s pretty sure it’s just that everyone holds back in combat with Duran, that they’re too afraid to hit a prince.

Good thing he isn’t.

“I said get on the bed,” he hisses. “Are you going to do what I say, or do I have to beat it into you?” When Duran answers, his voice is a near whisper, high pitched like even he isn’t quite sure what he’s saying.

“Can it be both?" he pauses, as if he's not quite sure if he's lost all dignity yet. Then he continues. "Please Faren. _Please_.”

Faren takes the imported-leather baton from the chest next to the prince’s bed and Duran gets himself ready on the bed, bent over with his ass in the air. Both the baton and the bedding is more expensive than Faren can bear to think about, materials more luxurious than he’d ever be allowed to touch in any other circumstances. It’s heavy in his hand and when Duran looks back at him over his shoulder- one strand of hair loose and sticking to the sweat on his forehead- he finds it hard to think about anything except using it on the prince. The two of them have been to bed enough times that Faren has a good idea of what Duran’s limits are, and he wants to hit the Aeducan as hard as he can get away with and then a little more. He wants to see if he can make that unblemished skin bruise like one of the soft fruits that Duran gets imported from the surface, if he can bring the prince to tears and get away with it.

The first blow is solid, even though it doesn’t have the full force of Faren’s arms behind it. Duran winces regardless, groaning softly before the duster grips one of his hips, pressing fingertips into him firmly enough to bruise. “I’m sorry, _Prince Duran,_ ” he starts, hissing the title from between clenched teeth. “Was there something you wanted? Something you were going to order me to give you?”

Duran presses his face against the pillows- all imported silk in yellow and white- and he mumbles something that Faren can’t quite catch. He hits the prince again, harder this time but just catching him with the edge of the baton, and Duran jolts, his entire body lifting up from the mattress for a moment. He turns his head to the side and rests it there on a pillow hair pooling around him as he looks back towards the duster. He looks like he’s about to cry, and Faren doesn’t want to think too deeply about the joy that rises in his chest at the sight.

“I said,” the Aeducan speaks slowly, as if his head is so empty of thoughts that finding it in himself to string together words is a challenge. “Please hit me again, harder.” He bites his lip. “And then fuck me. _Please_.”

Faren brings his hand down to touch the prince’s hair, and the noble flinches at the touch. But then he realises that it seems to be offering a kindness, a gentle touch and a reprise from pain. He melts into the touch, and that’s how Faren knows the timing is right. He grabs a handful of Duran’s long braided blond hair and the prince releases a gasp that turns into a long breathy moan. Prince Duran is exactly like the other nobles who’ve played with Faren in one aspect, and that’s that he’s very bad at telling what Faren is lying about and what he isn’t.It’s always like this. They’re always like this. The power is pretend and they both know it; Faren can fuck and tie down and beat and threaten Duran all he wants, but outside this bedroom he’s nobody and Duran is royalty. But Duran thinks the anger behind what Faren does is pretend too, and he’s wrong. Faren’s rage is seething and white hot and terribly, terribly real. He puts all his force behind the swing, hits as hard as he can, and _fuck_ he hopes it bruises so that Duran can’t help but think about _this_ when he leaves for the Deep Roads tomorrow.

The anger isn’t fake, but the small bit of kindness Faren shows Duran after is. Or at least it _mostly_ is- much as Faren wants to be able to think of this relationship in purely transactional terms, there’s still a small part of him that wonders what could have been between them in a different life. He drops the baton on the bed and massages Duran’s ass, watching with satisfaction as the areas he’s beaten turn red. If it were up to him, he’d probably keep beating the prince’s ass. But he’s been given an order, even though it was hidden as something that’s not a request. He stands up from where he’s kneeling at Duran’s bedside to do two things. Firstly, he takes his clothes off, slipping the simple cloth garments off as quickly as he can. The second is that he goes to the wardrobe that looms over the bed and finds the bottle of oil he knows Duran keeps in there.

When Duran first took him to bed, he had been so tight that Faren had to work him open with fingers and tongue before he was able to fuck him. Duran isn’t like that now- after Faren empties oil into his palm and rubs it on his cock it’s easy to push inside him, hands gripping the prince’s thighs as he fucks him. Just like when he fucked Duran’s mouth, Faren moves slowly at first, angling himself so that he knows he’s hitting the right spot in his ass. It’s so tempting to just pin the man down and pound him, to use him and come inside him and then leave him without relief. But the duster also knows better than to act like he would if he were actually in control. He’s only allowed into the palace because it pleases one of Orzammar’s Aeducan princes, and please him he will. He grips Duran’s hip with one hand and wraps the other around his throat, squeezing and grasping at them both as the noble shamelessly moans underneath him. Faren speeds up his pace, rocking his hips into the other man, balls slapping against his taint.

“You like this, don’t you salroka,” he murmurs, and the moment he says it he wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job at hiding his anger. “Being stretched out like this for me.Being fucked into the mattress like a whore.” It’s odd to use the word against somebody else given how and why Faren is here, but _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel good, taking the words others have used for him and wielding them as a weapon against another. It makes him feel powerful in a place where he has to claw and fight for every moment of power, and as he slams his hips harder he has to bite his lip to keep himself from coming. He wants to wait until the prince tightens around him to come. Duran doesn’t say any words in return, but he lets out a string of unintelligible moans, rocking his hips back against Faren, and the duster takes that as approval. He moves the hand that was on Duran’s hip around to curl around his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.

“So hard,” Faren says, the words flowing out of him on instinct, before he even really has a chance to think them over. “You’re _so_ hard and I hadn’t even touched your cock yet.” He releases his grip around Duran’s throat for just a moment and the prince gasps for air. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Duran’s lips are darkened and his face is flushed red and sweat drenched. “Please,” he gasps. “Use me. I want you to make me come on your cock. Please Faren.”

The duster chuckles, low and dark. “If you insist.”

He grasps around the prince’s throat again and squeezes, harder than before, and starts to move his hips again. They’re slow but forceful, pushing deep and hard into the him, and if sounds were able to escape Duran’s throat he’d be whimpering. Faren strokes the man’s cock in time with his thrusts and that too is slow and forceful. Instead of speeding up he increases intensity, clenching tighter and tighter as he fucks Duran between his cock and his hand. By the time Duran is close to coming- legs trembling so hard he might wake the ancestors- Faren is choking him so hard he’s approaching the edge of consciousness. If he had control of his mouth he’d cry out when he comes, but instead he just shudders silently, cock leaking onto Faren’s hands and onto the sheets, muscles twitching and clenching around Faren hard enough that Faren knows he can’t hold out much longer. When he comes inside the prince, it’s like he’s emptying himself inside him, not just physically but in that all the tension and anger seems to leave his body for a moment. He forgets everything except how good it feels to have his cock buried inside this man.

It’s only after he’s pulled out and taken a moment to recover- lying on the sweat soaked sheets next to Duran - that he remembers. He’s still out of breath but he pulls himself upright, taking note of where his clothes have been deposited in the room. The prince still seems blissful and he looks at Faren with some softness in his half lidded eyes. But Faren knows better than to stay his welcome.

“So. Prince Duran. When do you want me gone by?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be just smut, but also I'm primarily an angst writer, and half way through some Feelings about my experiences as a SWer bubbled to the surface so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ have a fic in which complicated feelings about internalised homophobia + sex work are brought up at the same time as blowjobs are given I guess ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what's projection I don't know her


End file.
